Page 8 of Offside Devil

Popov’s lip curls for a second before he pulls his hand away, regarding us both with a carefully schooled expression. “I’m going to be watching you both. I need someone who is going to be a leader. Someone who loves the game and this team. This isn’t a popularity contest; it’ll be a testament to the kind of men you are, on and off the ice.”

A man like Jace Cannon. A husband, a father, a driven captain, loyal teammate, and the best center the Phoenix Angels have ever had.

Not exactly small shoes to fill.

I wonder where saving a naked woman from a bathroom pervert falls on the spectrum of admirable qualities.

Popov drops a ten-dollar bill on the table. “The coffee is on me. I’ll see you both at training.”

“Well,” Carson finally says when Popov is out the door, “you heard him. The position is mine.”

I choke on a laugh. “Oh, I heard him. He said this isn’t a popularity contest. Your little band of punk-ass rookies may worship you for getting them into nightclubs, but they aren’t going to be able to help you out here.”

“I don’t need anyone’s help. Sure as shit not yours, you fucking junkie.” He swipes the ten-dollar bill from the center of the table and tosses it at me. “Here, buy yourself something nice. How much does a gram of blow go for these days? Is that what you were doing in the bathroom?”

Carson saunters away before I can say anything.

Not that I have anything to say to him.

This is my chance. After four years of piecing my life back together and clawing my way back to something meaningful, this is my chance.

I’m going to be captain of the Phoenix Angels—and even Carson fucking Deluth can’t bring me down.

6

ZANE

“You should have fucking told me!” I accuse around a massive bite of pizza. “Carson expected me to know already. I expected me to know already.”

“Coach made me swear I wouldn’t tell,” Jace replies calmly. I can hear his wife and kid chattering in the background of the call.

“Fuck Coach!”

Jace chuckles. “Say that to his face and you’ll be under the leadership of Almighty Captain Carson before preseason even starts.”

“Fuck Carson, too,” I grumble. “No one can stand that guy.”

“You can’t stand him. There’s a difference.”

I take another bite of pizza and grimace. “You’re telling me you think Dickhead Deluth would make a good captain?”

“Fuck no. I’m pro-Zane. You know that. Buuut…” He draws out the single syllable long enough that I have plenty of time to dread whatever level-headed, rational bullshit he’s going to say next. “A lot of the younger guys like him. He pals around with them. Treats them like equals.”

“Because no one with a fully-developed brain can stand to be around him.”

Jace clicks his tongue. “Either way, he has support. You’re a better player, but you bolt after games?—”

When the team gets drunk to celebrate a win or mourn a loss.

“—and you skip the team dinners?—”

I can only turn down tequila shots so many times. I’m a recovering addict, not a saint.

“I’m not saying you need to party to become captain,” Jace adds quickly, already guessing where my thoughts are headed. “But it would help if everyone saw you as a real person, you know?”

“Sorry I don’t have a phone gallery full of pictures of my snot-nosed kid or a wife who sends boxes of cookies to the locker room for people’s birthdays.”

The kind of women I’m attracted to aren’t thoughtful. They don’t bake. They turn my life upside down and then disappear, leaving me to spend way too fucking long thinking about quickly I could untie a couple aprons.

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